Cut and Run

by Allison Brennan

  She paused just a second to let Monroe offer information, even just that he knew Grant, but he didn’t say anything.

  Smart man.

  “I met with him yesterday before he was released on bail, which ultimately was a good thing considering he was later killed outside the courthouse.”

  Monroe nodded. “It’s been all over the news.”

  “Mr. Grant claimed that he’d been threatened into confessing to Victoria’s murder. An unknown man threatened his sister and her family. After they were in a car accident, he went to the police and said he’d killed Victoria during an argument after she caught him embezzling money from their company.”

  “Why is this important to me?”

  “You knew Grant, as well as Victoria.”

  “Yes. We went to college together. Victoria and I saw each other for several years.”

  Definitely a smart man. Not denying anything. Either he was truly innocent and had no involvement in the conspiracy or he was smart enough to know what could be learned with a good research team.

  “According to Grant, Victoria acted differently in the weeks leading up to her murder. She was short-tempered and secretive. He said that she was working on a land deal for you but didn’t discuss it with either him or Mitch.”

  If that news came as a surprise to Monroe, he didn’t show it. “Victoria was one of my brokers. I purchased some properties as investments this year, sold several others, all before she was killed. I had one in escrow at that time, and Mitch Corta closed it for me. If Victoria was secretive, it wasn’t because of our business relationship.”

  “Why would he call you a ‘straw buyer’?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  He didn’t volunteer any information or theories.

  “Do you think that Stanley Grant killed Victoria?”

  “He confessed.”

  “Then recanted.”

  “I’m not a lawyer, but it seems to me his change of plea may have been a legal maneuver.”

  “It may have been. But I’m not one hundred percent convinced.”

  He smiled, almost as if he was humored by her comment. “And you came all the way from New York to be convinced of his guilt?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  He nodded. “I don’t see how I can help you,” Monroe continued.

  Max wasn’t going to rattle him with the easy questions, so she jumped in.

  “Did you know Denise Albright? Formerly Denise Graham.”

  “Of course. She was Victoria’s roommate in college. I saw on the news that she, too, met an untimely end.”

  “Did you note that Victoria was killed the day that Denise’s remains were found?”

  “I did not.”

  “Denise was an accountant, did you work with her?”

  “No. Ms. Revere, I’m happy to discuss Victoria with you, or whatever you think might help in your report, but I have a conference call in just a few minutes.”

  Max rose. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

  “Truly, if you’d like to talk about Victoria, I’m happy to meet outside the office. Simply call my assistant and set it up.”

  “I appreciate that, and I may take you up on it,” Max said.

  Monroe rose to walk her to his office door. “It was very nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Max put her hand on the door, then turned around, looked Monroe in the eye, and smiled. “Andy Tompkins asked me to say hello.”

  For the first time, there was genuine surprise in Monroe’s expression. His cheek twitched, just a small movement, but she was standing close to him. He was caught off guard.

  “I’m surprised,” Monroe said, his voice even calmer than before. “Andy and I are not friends.”

  “Odd,” she said, “he told me you’d been close in college. Funny how people remember relationships differently. Thank you again for your time.”

  She left.

  Harrison Monroe hated Andy. “Not friends” was an understatement. But if what Ben uncovered was true, they had once been close—close enough that Monroe turned over his entire college gambling operation to Andy.

  It could mean absolutely nothing, at least related to Victoria and the Albright family.

  It could mean everything.

  Harrison Monroe was a cool operator. Smart. Poised. Wealthy.

  And he had secrets.

  What was he up to?

  * * *

  “Don’t look back,” Sean said, “but we’re being followed.”

  Because he said it, Max had to force herself to stare straight ahead. “Harrison Monroe is a hard man to rattle. I always rattle people. Nothing—until I mentioned Andy Tompkins.”

  She’d been rethinking her approach. Because Monroe had been so calm, reasonable, and professional, she opted for the same approach. Being brusque or accusatory wouldn’t have gotten her anything; he was one of the rare people who could remain calm in the face of an interrogation. Everything in his background showed him to be an intelligent, successful, and respected financial planner whom people entrusted with hundreds of millions of dollars.

  She was trying to find out why he’d left Chicago for San Antonio—hardly a move up in the financial world—but that was a bit trickier. The financial world, even using her family connections, was tight-lipped. It was a benefit when they had your money but a definite negative when she wanted information.

  But now, as Sean maneuvered through afternoon traffic, she realized she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.

  “You’re certain we weren’t followed to Monroe’s office.”

  He gave her a nasty look.

  She looked through her messages to get Andy Tompkins’s contact information. “What do you think about a road trip?”

  “You want to go to Dallas and talk to Tompkins.”

  “He knows more than he told Ben.” While Ben was good at getting basic information out of people, it took a face-to-face to find out if they knew more—or if they were lying.

  Sean said, “Hold that thought.”

  Sean pressed a couple buttons on his GPS navigation, but from this angle Max couldn’t quite see what he was doing. He made a right turn at the light, away from her hotel, and then turned left on a side street.

  “Are you trying to lose him?” Max asked. “We need to find out who he is.”

  “I already have his license plate,” Sean said, “but I want to talk to him.”

  That idea seemed foolhardy, as she couldn’t figure out how he would get the driver to pull over.

  Sean slowed down as if he were looking for an address. He turned left, went halfway down the block, then pulled over to the right.

  “Open your door, but don’t get out,” Sean said. “When I tell you, shut it. And don’t look back.”

  Max didn’t like not knowing the plan, but she did what Sean said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark sedan drive past, going the speed limit. Sean waited until he was three houses ahead, then said, “Shut it.”

  Before her door was fully closed, Sean floored the gas. Max hadn’t realized it, but this was a dead end. The other driver tried to turn in the cul-de-sac, but Sean maneuvered his vehicle and cut him off. The driver slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting him.

  Sean jumped out of the car. Max followed suit, but since Sean was armed and she wasn’t, she stood behind him as he approached the driver.

  The driver didn’t get out. He rolled down his window. He was a beefy guy in a suit. “Move your car,” he told Sean.

  “Tell your boss that if he has me followed again, I’ll make his life a living hell, understood?”

  The driver didn’t look fazed. “Now,” he said.

  Sean stared at him. “He doesn’t want to fuck with me.”

  The driver looked from Sean to Max, then back at Sean. He rolled up his window and smoothly backed up, almost hitting a mailbox, then drove past Sean’s jeep, missing the rear bumper by inches.

  “Don’t give me that look,” Sean said. “He wouldn�
�t tell you anything. But did you notice his hand?” He climbed back into his jeep; Max followed.

  “Hand?”

  “Burned. That’s the guy Grant said threatened him.”

  Sean picked up his phone. “Big favor … Yeah, I know, but I was good on those Texans tickets last year, wasn’t I? Two more … you just have to confirm information.” He listened, then read off a license plate number, from memory. “I just need to know if it’s registered to Lloyd Barnes Financial Services, or a variation of the name, Harrison Monroe, or HFM, an LLC.”

  Only today had Sean learned that Harrison Monroe had a company called HFM. He’d pulled the papers and it was very basic—controlled fifty-fifty with his wife, Faith. But they didn’t appear to do anything except buy and sell land. It was actually very standard for someone to use a holding company for land transactions, especially if they were going to develop or improve the land, then sell.

  But a holding company would also help if they were hiding money. If Max were doing it, she wouldn’t put her own name in the title or on the papers.

  But then again, she wasn’t prone to breaking serious laws.

  “Thanks, Jill. Tell Mark I said hi and the tickets are in the mail.”

  He ended the call. “HFM. I’m not surprised. When I reviewed their most recent filings they had four cars registered to the LLC. Two SUVs, two sedans, all black.” He backed up, then headed out of the neighborhood. “We have some research to do, but we have to do it on my computer. It’s secure.”

  “Do you have the names of the employees?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “HFM filed with the secretary of state to set up the LLC, and they’ve filed their tax returns on time. The initial filing is public—which we have—but tax returns are not. As it is a private company, none of their financial information is available to the public.”

  “Are you deliberately not answering my question?”

  “While you were in with Monroe, I may have broken a tiny law. I may have copies of all security badges allowed to access the building.”

  “That’s not a tiny law.” She smiled. “But it’s not like we’re going to turn the information over to the FBI and hinder a prosecution.”

  “We’ll keep this between you and me. I want to know who that guy is. He may not be on the master list, but my guess is that Monroe wants to keep his personal thugs close. Even private contractors are often given security passes.”

  “What are the chances that the guy who threatened Stanley Grant is on the list?”

  “If it were me, zero. But Monroe is cocky, and that guy had a scar.”

  “How do you know he’s cocky?”

  “I listened to your entire conversation. He was calm, reasonable, didn’t respond with any suspicious questions, showed no anger or animosity, only a slight reserved boredom. He was humoring you, and he knew it.”

  “I still want to talk to Andy Tompkins.”

  “My guess is that he won’t say a word to you.”

  “He talked to Ben.”

  “Before you put him back on Monroe’s radar. My guess? By now Monroe either has called him and threatened him or had someone pay him a visit to keep his mouth shut.”

  “If you won’t drive to Dallas, maybe I should.”

  “Save the time and call him. I guarantee you, he will not help.”

  Sean didn’t know her well. She looked up Tompkins’s number and punched it in. “Mr. Tompkins, this is Maxine Revere. I work with Ben Lawson at—”

  “You fucking bitch. Lawson said you wanted information! Just research, he said. Now Harrison is going to destroy me.”

  “I can help—”

  “You can go to hell.”

  He ended the call.

  “I told you,” Sean said.

  “I didn’t think Monroe would act that fast.”

  “As soon as we were followed, I figured he was reining in the horses, so to speak. But we have to tread lightly. If Monroe is behind both the Albright murders and Victoria’s murder, he’s running a large conspiracy and has more people than we know about working for him. That’s both good and bad.”

  “Good because all it takes is one person to flip and bad because we don’t know where he might come after us.”

  “Exactly.”

  “We also have a team,” Max said. She had been a lone wolf for so long, and she was still getting used to working with others to investigate her cold cases. She both liked and disliked having a team. She was used to doing everything herself and only having herself to answer to, but in a case like this she needed help. Victoria Mills wasn’t a cold case, at least not the kind she generally investigated. She would have been far more comfortable looking into the Albright family murders than Victoria.

  “I have to make some arrangements.”

  Sean got on his phone again. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mateo,” he said. “I was hoping Jesse could stay at Saint Catherine’s for a day or two … If he can go home with Brian after soccer practice?… Thank you. And he’s going to miss school tomorrow. Give him some chores, it’ll be good for him.”

  When Sean got off the phone, Max said, “Are you worried that Monroe is going to go after your son?”

  “No, I’m being cautious. I won’t put Jesse in a position to be used against me, and while my house is safe, I don’t want him home alone all night. It would take Monroe a lot of digging to find my connection to Saint Catherine’s, and even if he did, he wouldn’t think I’d send my kid over there. Jesse’s safer there for now. We’ll reevaluate after tomorrow.”

  Sean called Jesse and left him a voice mail telling him he and Lucy might not be home tonight and to go home with Brian and stay at St. Catherine’s. “Call me when you get this message,” he added. “Love you.”

  Sean ended the call, then said to Max, “What does your gut say about Simon Mills? Is he involved?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it since we learned that they all went to college together. I don’t know.”

  “And Corta?”

  “He was acting squirrelly yesterday.”

  “He has a bank in Austin. A safe-deposit box. You made him nervous.”

  “Yes, I did. He’s involved somehow. But…” She hesitated.

  “You have a theory. Spill it.”

  “Not much of a theory. I’m wondering if they’re both involved, but in different aspects. Meaning, maybe they were involved in whatever illegal shenanigans Monroe is dealing in, but not in Victoria’s murder.”

  “Is that based on evidence or emotion?”

  She considered. She wasn’t an overly emotional person and could generally assess information with a clear head. She looked at facts—but recognized that many people acted on their feelings. And those feelings could lead them down different paths.

  “Denise Albright was a friend. I believe that Mitch or Simon could be involved in the murder of a friend but have a harder time believing that they’re involved in the murder of someone they loved. A sister … an ex-wife. When I was at Mitch’s office, he had a photo of him, Stanley, Denise, Simon, and Victoria on his desk. Most of the ex-spouses I know despise their former partner, or are minimally cordial. And no one seems to know why they divorced. Grover had the best explanation—that they were friends, and didn’t have the passion for marriage.”

  “Some people don’t need a reason—or it’s personal.”

  “I get that. David called off his engagement to the mother of his child because he couldn’t continue living the lie that he was straight. I’m not judging Mitch and Victoria, but I … Let’s put it this way. They separated at the same time that Harrison Monroe moved to Texas. They divorced shortly after Denise Albright disappeared—we now know she was dead. I think Mitch knows what’s going on, and has from the beginning. I think he’s the weak link.”

  “Why not Simon? He’s her brother.”

  “Because Simon truly believed that Stan killed his sister. He knows more than he said to a
nyone, but his grief was real.”

  “Sometimes, grief and guilt are interchangeable.”

  “What if he knows why Victoria was killed but not who did it?”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “Go back to my timeline. Victoria was killed the day after the bones were uncovered—the day the media reported they’d been found.”

  “But they weren’t identified.”

  “It’s reasonable that the killer would know that DNA would prove the identities of the bones and then Victoria—who was Denise’s best friend—might expose them. Because of emotion. Because she thought her best friend had left the country because of something else … like a crime they both committed.”

  “That’s stretching,” Sean said. “If they both committed a crime, why would Denise leave but not Victoria? Why would either of them leave unless they thought the law would catch up to them?”

  “It’s a good question. Maybe Denise didn’t feel comfortable with what she was doing. Or tried to get out of a sticky situation. This is the most frustrating case I’ve investigated in a long time.”

  “The embezzlement angle is very similar to Stan’s alleged embezzlement. What’s the odds that two friends embezzled from the companies they worked for?”

  “Possible, I suppose. Yet … what if it’s a motive that wasn’t a real motive? A red herring, something for the cops to follow. With both Denise and Stan. It worked once, right? The police thought Denise absconded with funds. Do it again—after killing Victoria.”

  “I think you should call in your boyfriend.”

  “He said you can call him because you’re not FBI.”

  “Not following— Oh, I get it. He doesn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

  “Exactly.”

  “All right, we’ll talk to him tonight, after we find out what Lucy learned at the bank.” Sean pulled into his garage and turned off his engine. “Now, time for research. But I’m starving, so food comes first.”

  Chapter Twenty

  WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

  Lucy and Nate arrived at the Youngs’ house only a few minutes past twelve fifteen that afternoon. Nate had gone a roundabout way to ensure they weren’t followed.